


Spread

by ohfreckle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Feminization, Genderplay, M/M, Rimming, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The patterned bralette hugs Arthur's chest tightly, its wide neckline and spaghetti straps accentuating the strong and graceful curve of his shoulders. Eames feels a wild rush of affection and sheer <i>want</i> for Arthur, thrilled and grateful that Arthur, competent and always-in-control Arthur, trusts him this much, wants to share this side of him with Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spread

"I told you, this is unacceptable. If something goes wrong we'll never make it to the exit and I'd rather not bleed out _again_." 

Arthur's brow is furrowed in concentration while he marks several points on the blueprint in front of him, rapidly talking while ignoring everyone else in the room. "We need at least one more shortcut, right here at the stairs I think."

Ariadne, who's standing next to him and frowning down on the plans, too, looks neither impressed or happy with Arthur's changes. Not at all.

Eames is watching the display from his safe place on the couch across the room, not even pretending he's not eavesdropping shamelessly

Eames may be biased, but the sight is rather lovely. Arthur's tie is gone, the first three buttons of his shirt open, rolled up sleeves showing off wiry and strong forearms. For Arthur in work mode this can be considered almost naked. 

As much as Eames would like to follow that tempting train of thought and indulge in some of his very favorite fantasies about Arthur naked and sweaty and the things he's able to do with his forearms, now doesn't seem like the time for it because something is clearly off. Arthur never looks this disheveled this early in the afternoon, only after long hours of mind-numbing research and countless cups of coffee. It's only a little after lunch now, unusually early for Arthur to be in such a rumpled state, and Eames can see the tic in his jaw even from across the room. 

"Here, the interior, it's not right." Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, shuffling several sketches of the bar they'll be using for the first level. "Hendricks hates blue. What gave you the idea that he would appreciate this kind of oceanic overkill? You could at least try to be professional and read the files I give you."

Ariadne's mouth is pressed into a thin line. As far as Eames can tell, she's been going from mildly annoyed to pissed off to furious in the fifteen minutes since Arthur started picking apart her models and plans. Quite righteously so, because as far as Eames is concerned her drafts are more than suited to get this rather dull job done and Arthur is being an overly-critical arse.

"I don't know, _maybe_ I got the idea from the file that says that 'The Blue Beach' is his favorite bar," Ariadne enunciates slowly and carefully. Really, Eames commends her for her marvelous restraint. Rao, their extractor, had taken flight about ten minutes ago with a mumbled excuse about a forgotten appointment. 

"It's very blue and looks disgustingly aquatic. I had to look at _fish heads_ with dead eyes and open mouths for the whole hour I spent there. I blame _you_ if I'll never be able to eat fish again."

"Oh, yes, right… I forgot," Arthur admits distractedly but doesn't stop penciling even more changes on the blueprint. The much needed 'sorry' everybody is waiting for never comes which is what makes Ariadne finally snap. 

"You know what? Fuck you," she says and grabs the print, pulling it out right from under Arthur's pencil so that it paints a bright red line on the surface of the desk with an ugly scratchy sound. 

"I don't know what it is you need, but it's obviously not an architect, since you've suddenly become an expert yourself," Ariadne says, stuffing the rolls of paper into a huge yellow shoulder bag with much vigor. Eames supposes she envisions the bag to be Arthur's mouth right now. He probably should re-think everything he thought about her restraint. The girl's got spunk.

"Ariadne, would you please stop being childish," Arthur starts, but Eames interrupts him before he can do any more damage.

"Ariadne, love, would you please give us a minute here? I think we could all use a break." Eames gives her his best innocent smile, the one that even makes his nana stop asking about grandchildren and feed him biscuits instead. Ariadne harrumphs in a way that clearly indicates she has a lot more to say on the matter and is in no way finished, but much to Eames' relief she does leave the room in an impressive flurry of scarves and with an undoubtedly satisfying bang of the door.

"Bollocks, Arthur, was that really necessary?" 

Arthur stares at him incredulously.

"Are you actually saying I'm at fault here? Those drafts are sloppy and below par, especially for Ariadne." 

"And yet they are all that is needed for such a simple job and you know it," Eames chides. "Come here". 

Eames steps closer and reaches out, curling broad hands around Arthur's neck and the small of his back, pulling him in. Arthur's posture is tense like a bow, screaming of anger and what looks like not a small amount of resentment against Eames taking Ariadne's side. Still, he comes with only a little resistance and Eames counts it a small victory when Arthur leans against him.

"Look, Arthur," says Eames, stroking the hair at Arthur's nape, which has gotten quite long in the last few weeks and curls gently against his palm. 

"I know you're stressed and tired and I'm sorry that all our hard work in Prague was for nothing. But it was your choice to still help out Rao so shortly after, and Ariadne is doing us a great favor by stepping in during her exams. I think that more than excuses her for doing an adequate instead of exceptional job, don't you think?" 

Their last job had ended less than a week ago, going pear-shaped after six weeks of painstaking research and preparations. It ended with their mark and Eames in a hospital in Prague, no payout and a price on Arthur's head. Arthur had gotten spectacularly mad when he wasn't allowed in the hospital to see his _husband_ , and even more pissed off when Eames teased him endlessly that 'really, it's your own fault, darling, if you haven't put on a ring on it'. Eames doesn't think either of their team members will ever want to work with them again. 

For some seconds there's no reaction from Arthur and Eames thinks maybe he misread things and Arthur is really angry, not just overworked and tired. But then some of the tension bleeds out of his posture and he leans a little more heavily against Eames, arms circling loosely about his waist. He nods with a reluctant sigh into Eames' shoulder. 

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," Arthur says wearily. "It's just… I don't know - I just want _something_ to work out all right after that total clusterfuck in Prague. I guess I owe Ariadne an apology." He snorts. "Possibly cake, too." 

"I have a better idea," Eames whispers, like it's a secret, studiously ignoring Arthur’s raised eyebrow. 

"You are taking the rest of the day off and I'll tell Ariadne. But I doubt you'll get off that cheap this time. Add that Burberry scarf she's been nattering on about to the cake and she _might_ forgive you." 

Eames smiles, pressing a small kiss to Arthur's temple and stepping back. He's glad that disaster has been avoided, he’s rather fond of Ariadne.

Arthur is still tense and not quite happy, but at least the anger is gone. Eames can work with that. 

"My hero," Arthur remarks dryly, but not actually objecting. "And what are you expecting me to do this with this much free time on my hands? Knit you a fluffy sweater?"

Eames can't help but laugh, short and surprised, glad for a spark of humor so soon. 

"I'm sure it would be very fashionable, but no, maybe another time," Eames smirks. 

"You, my darling," he says, taking Arthur's chin and pecking a light kiss on his lips, "are going to make yourself pretty. Because if you want to act like a tart, you might as well look like one." 

Arthur stares at him, looking a little startled, but pleased all the same. The hot blush of realization that's rising high on Arthur's cheeks within mere seconds tells Eames all he needs to know. 

"There's a gift for you in my suitcase, the pink striped bag," Eames instructs, "be ready at six."

 

***

When Eames opens the door to the hotel suite at exactly a quarter past six, he is greeted by the sight of Arthur lounging on the sofa. 

He's nestled in the corner, legs folded elegantly under him, leafing through what seems to be a copy of Guns & Ammo. It's a rather common thing for Eames to come home to, and something he'll get never tired of. Except, instead of his usual attire of jeans and a t-shirt, Arthur is wearing the gift Eames had bought for him.

"You're late," Arthur snaps, not looking up from his magazine.

"And you are so very lovely, dear," Eames chuckles, not even slightly deterred by this less than enthusiastic welcome. 

Arthur is often prickly at this early stage of playtime, not yet ready to admit how much he loves it. He needs Eames to _make_ him love it, draw it out of him, slowly and patiently, until Arthur can finally give in and shatter under Eames and let him put the pieces back together. 

"Have you been good?" Eames asks conversationally, managing to sound calm and collected. He's neither, half-hard and wound up tightly from thinking about the things he wants to do to Arthur all afternoon. Still, he has a plan here, so he putters around, emptying the contents of his pockets onto a small side table. 

"Oh please, you know I always am." The answer comes from somewhere behind the magazine cover, slightly muffled by it.

"Then show me," Eames tells him, an order, not a request. "Come now, darling, let me see how lovely you are for me."

It's a few seconds before the magazine is lowered. But then Arthur slides to his feet gracefully and quickly covers the small distance between them to stand before Eames. 

The sight of him takes Eames' breath away. The arousal that has been simmering all afternoon flares hot and and he feels himself stiffening shockingly fast, the sharp pain of it between his legs making him gasp.

Arthur stands patiently before him, eyes downcast demurely, quietly waiting for Eames' approval.

He's wearing nothing but a short soft-plum colored babydoll, the hem of the sheer skirt barely gracing his upper thighs. Under it the small triangle of a v-string peeks through.

The patterned bralette hugs Arthur's chest tightly, its wide neckline and spaghetti straps accentuating the strong and graceful curve of his shoulders. Eames feels a wild rush of affection and sheer _want_ for Arthur, thrilled and grateful that Arthur, competent and always-in-control Arthur, trusts him this much, wants to share this side of him with Eames. It's nothing short of humbling.

He lets his gaze linger a little longer. Arthur's nipples are already stiff and hard, stimulated by the unfamiliar scratch of lace. Arthur instinctively straightens his shoulders and pushes his chest out, his body gravitating towards Eames, begging to be touched. 

Arthur in bed is the way he is in every aspect of his life, always pushing and not shy to ask for what he wants. It's only when he's like this, trying to be _so good_ for Eames, then he's unusually quiet. It's fine, it's exactly what Eames wants right now, keeping Arthur guessing, taking away his need to control. It's okay, Eames has him. 

Eames' moment of reflection seems to take too long for Arthur. He rolls his eyes and whines an impatient 'Eames, please…' before he quickly lowers his lashes and is once again the picture of innocence. Eames can't help but to grin wolfishly. Christ, he loves this Arthur, the one who comes out and likes to play and let Eames take over. Oh yes, this is going to be good.

"Yes, dear, is there something you need?" he asks, deliberately sweet.

"I…," Arthur starts, "don't… don't you like it?" He's finally looking at Eames, looking all pretty innocence and still he manages a glare that says that there will be hell to pay if Eames answers this one wrong. God, Eames needs to fuck him so badly, slide into the wet heat of him, the little minx will be lucky if Eames manages to bend him over the sofa instead of fucking him right here on the carpet and giving them both a spectacular case of rug burn.

"Oh, pet, of course I do. Just look at you," Eames says, his voice soft with admiration. "So gorgeous, such a beautiful girl for me. I knew this was made for you when I saw it, couldn't wait to see you making it even prettier."

Arthur preens, a flush of joy coloring his cheeks at the praise. He twists a little from side to side, making the skirt swing tantalizingly around his hips. 

Eames is so _so_ fucked.

"Come on, love, show me more," he demands, surprised how gravelly his voice has gone. 

He makes a circling motion with his finger and Arthur pivots slowly, bending over the slightest bit when he's with his back to Eames. The lush cheeks of his naked arse are only covered half by the material like this, lower curve of them exposed. Arthur's stance allows Eames a peek at the tiny string of fabric. parting him the way Eames so desperately wants to with his fingers and mouth. Eames groans, the thought of how Arthur will taste there when he'll lick into that moist heat making a tiny bubble of precome tickle at the head of his cock. 

Before he has a chance to touch, Arthur is already turning back. He's in no better a state than Eames, a wet stain now darkening the babydoll where it's covering his leaking cock.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, all Eames wants, _needs_ is to touch and worship every single inch of skin, and why shouldn't he? He has every right to it, because Arthur is _his_. 

His grip on Arthur's hip is too tight, the way he pulls Arthur against him and makes him stumble is too hard, and it's fucking _perfect_. Arthur whines, clings to Eames with strong arms and offers his mouth for the taking, begging with a string of high-pitched "please, please, oh please". 

The kiss is rough and without finesse, a deep, wet and sloppy slide of tongues. Arthur is shameless in Eames' arms, sucking on Eames's tongue like he sucks his cock, demanding more kisses in a breathy little voice that doesn't sound like Arthur at all.

Eames curses up a storm between obliging Arthur's demands. He's desperate for friction on his cock, anything at all to either keep him from coming in his pants like a bloody teenager or to help him along to do just that. He grabs Arthur's right hand and presses it against the front of his slacks, leaking into his underwear with the glorious relief it brings. Arthur traces the familiar hard shape of him, fingers rough and greedy, always so greedy for Eames' cock.

"Feel how hard you're making me?" Eames gasps into Arthur's mouth. He covers Arthur's hand on him with his own, rubs small, tight circles over his cock and it feels so good Eames is shaking with it.

"Mmmh, so hard and big," Arthur sighs, nuzzling Eames' jaw. "Give it to me, please?"

"Jesus, Arthur," Eames grits out. "I need to fuck you so badly. I'll just bend you over that sofa and fuck that greedy cunt of yours until you scream. You'll love it, won't you, you'll just spread those legs like the slag you are and beg for more."

The sound Arthur makes at that is a hurt little hitch of breath, eyes flitting to the side because he hates how well Eames knows him, knows just which buttons to push. Only when Eames takes his chin and makes Arthur look at him, gently chiding "don't play coy, Arthur," can he admit that particular truth with a tiny nod.

"That's my girl," Eames praises. He slides a hand in Arthur's hair, pulling roughly until Arthur whimpers and bares his throat, lets Eames suck deep and bruising kisses into his collarbone that will mark him for days. 

Eames’ other hand touches freely, following when Arthur catches it and pulls it between his thighs. Eames strokes lightly between them, coaxing the most delicious little sighs from Arthur that he eats right out of his mouth. Arthur's balls are full and heavy against Eames knuckles, the fabric of the string covering them wet with Arthur's juices. 

Eames growls when he notices just how soft the skin between Arthur's legs is, smooth and freshly shaven.

"So I've been good, yes?" Arthur asks, guiding Eames' hand around to his arse. Eames shudders, mouthing a heartfelt _goddamnit, Arthur_ into Arthur's neck when he feels just how good he's been, how smooth the plump cheek cupped in his hand is.

"Oh yes," Eames breathes, when he explores further and strokes a hand down Arthur's belly under the skirt, meeting nothing but hairless skin already slick with precome and further down the edge of a neatly trimmed thatch of hair. "Such a very good girl, making yourself so pretty, just the way you know I like."

Arthur shivers against him and spreads his legs a little wider. Such good behavior needs to be rewarded, so Eames strokes lower, cupping Arthur's balls with his palm and stroking lightly behind them with his fingertips. Arthur makes a choked sound that sounds a lot like _more_ and rubs against Eames' hand in an attempt to get more friction, making his fingers slide over soft, slick skin.

"You filthy little slag," Eames says, his voice hoarse. "You're soaking down there, can't help creaming yourself as soon as you have something between your legs." 

The things Arthur does to him - he's too hot, needs to get out of his clothes but he just can't stop murmuring filth into Arthur's mouth, spurred on by how it's answered with low moans that sound like they're ripped out of Arthur. 

"That's why you're doing it, hmmm," Eames says, stroking slowly lower and pressing the tip of his finger into Arthur's cleft. "You know I love eating you out like this, when your slit is all pink and smooth." 

Arthur flushes hotly when Eames’ fingers stroke deeper between his cheeks. He clutches fistfuls of Eames' shirt, mumbling something unintelligible into Eames' chest. He locks his legs and lets his weight sag, effectively trapping Eames' forearm between his legs.

"Fuck, Arthur," Eames wheezes, but for once words elude him at the sight of Arthur riding his wrist and hand without even a hint of shame. It's probably for the better, because Arthur would mercilessly exploit any weakness Eames might babble out in his sex-fogged state.

"I'm sorry," Arthur pants, the words still muffled in Eames' shirt. "I tried, but I couldn't reach…" His breath hitches, eyes closed tightly from what little Eames can see of his face. The admission is clearly making him uncomfortable, and Eames learns what this about as soon as he strokes two fingers over Arthur's entrance and feels the soft down of hair. 

"I swear, if you stop now… " Arthur snaps, but scrambling to change it to a breathy "Please, don't stop. I want it so badly," as soon as Eames threatens to withdraw his hand.

"Yes, love, what is it you want? This?" Eames asks, sinking a finger into Arthur's tight wet heat right to the second knuckle. Arthur nods, bucking back onto Eames's hand, but then shaking his head No. He's too overwhelmed by the sudden pleasurepain of penetration, but Eames reads the plea in his eyes easily. It's not hard to guess, it's what Arthur _always_ wants.

"My mouth then," and that gets Eames a frantic nod.

"I’m afraid not, darling," Eames tells him, almost conversationally, withdrawing his hand against the desperate clench of Arthur's thighs to keep his hand where he needs it. "I don't think you want it that badly, hmm, if you can't even put some effort into making yourself pretty for me."

As soon as it's out of his mouth he wants to knock himself up the head. The look on Arthur's face, the way he looks downright stricken - it's like a punch to Eames' balls. Bloody fool. Getting Arthur to play in order to forget his failure, however imaginary it may be, and then scolding him for such a slight lapse is one of the dumbest things Eames has done in quite a while. He clears his throat, frantically thinking of some way to swing this.

"If you ask really nicely, though, I might help you," he offers. 

Arthur fidgets. "Please don't, that would be really weird," he says, making a face. 

Still, when Eames stays quiet, leaving the decision to him, he steps back into Eames space and unbuttons his shirt, whispering, "help me, please?" 

The feeling of Arthur's long fingers scratching through the hair on his chest is almost Eames' undoing. The feeling of Arthur's clever mouth suckling his tit with tiny smacking noises - that one _is_ his undoing.

He pushes Arthur in the direction of the bathroom, growling, "Go, sit on the counter," at him. Arthur turns and goes obediently, but Eames still notices the tiny smirk on his lips that says _Gotcha!_. Bloody hell, he loves the filthy minx.

Arthur sits on the counter next to the sink, exactly as he was told, when Eames comes in with a wash bag of supplies.

"Now be a love and spread your legs," Eames instructs. He takes the shaving kit they keep just for this purpose out of the bag and arranges everything next to Arthur for quick access. 

Arthur doesn't move, just bites his lip, turning it plump and red like he just sucked cock. "Please," he whispers, eyes glittering with shameful tears, "please don't make me. It's embarrassing."

"I thought you wanted to be a good little girl for me," Eames sighs. "What is it now, don't you want me to lick you out, get you wet and loose for my cock?" Just thinking about it, the taste of Arthur, makes his mouth water. His balls feel oversensitized and huge against his soaked boxers, ready to burst any second if he isn't careful now. 

"I do," Arthur rushes, tripping over the words in his haste, "but can't we skip it? The shaving, just this once?"

"You know there are rules, so stop being so bloody difficult," Eames growls. "Let me see your pussy." 

He crowds against Arthur until he reclines back against the wall behind the counter and tries to squeeze a hand behind his thighs, but Arthur locks up his whole body, clenches against the intrusion and tries to squirm away from Eames. He only manages to maneuver himself into the corner with Eames looming over and effectively trapping him.

"Darling," Eames says, voice soft, trying to soothe him like he would a frightened animal, "what is it? I thought you like it when I help." Arthur gives a tiny nod at that, but he also shrinks further back into the corner, turning his face into it as if he can hide the shame of his desires from Eames this easily. If there ever had been such a time, it's long gone.

"Look at you," Eames hushes, thumbing away a few tears that have leaked from Arthur's cheek, kissing him deep and wet. "So very gorgeous. There's nothing you have to hide, love, you know that." He suckles more kisses over the marks he left earlier on Arthur's collarbone, deepening the bruises that will remind Arthur for days what it is he craves, trails lower to delicately lick over a nipple covered in lace. 

It's only a short contact, but Arthur _keens_ with it, sudden and fierce, unable to stop the pleading noises that are pouring out of him, the dam finally starting to crack. He arches and butts his chest against Eames mouth. It's all the invitation Eames needs, Arthur's excitement - _please, god, suck my tits_ \- such a huge turn-on Eames almost loses it. 

"That's my girl," he praises, licking in lewd wet stripes over Arthur's nipples, "there, love, such beautiful titties."

He's as rough as he can, making the wet lace chafe at the hard nubs so they tighten even more under his tongue. Arthur is wild under him, hands fisted in Eames' hair to keep him where he wants him, as if Eames ever wanted to be anywhere else than here with his mouth full of Arthur's sweet little breasts.

Somehow he manages to lose his shirt and slacks, awkwardly bent over Arthur but unwilling to let go for even the little time it would take to undress properly. The sudden relief on his cock, Arthur fucking his mouth with his small perfect tits - the sensations are so overwhelming all Eames can do to keep himself from coming all over Arthur is to shove a hand down his briefs and tug his balls so viciously it makes his eyes water.

It takes care of most of his urgency, banks the desire to _fuckdeephard_ to a more tolerable level, at least for a little while.

"Now, let me see that fanny," Eames coaxes. "I know you're wet down there, you always are, you filthy little thing. I bet you've been thinking all day about my tongue and cock in there." 

He strokes his hands between Arthur's thighs, and this time he spreads them willingly, unable to hold back the hiss of _yesss_ that's as much affirmation as permission for Eames to touch. 

All the resistance Arthur's been clinging to seems to leave with his admission. Eames strokes down between Arthur's legs, down his thighs and calves, presses kisses into the sweaty crease at his hip. Arthur lets him when Eames grabs his ankles, pliant, and he even helps when Eames arranges him on the counter with his feet planted firmly on the surface, legs spread as wide as physically possible. 

"God, darling, _you harlot_ ," is all Eames can think to say when he looks him over, and fuck if it isn't the truth. Slouched against the wall, with his arse on the edge of the counter and his legs spread over the whole length of it, Arthur looks like a whore waiting to be fucked.

"Just for you," Arthur whispers coyly, slowly dragging the hem of the babydoll upwards over his cock and letting it pool around his navel. He still wears the string, the tiny triangle of fabric soaked with precome, barely covering his cock. Half of the shaft and the purple head peek out over the top, hard against his belly and nestled against his neatly trimmed bush of dark hair. It's lewd and obscene, absolutely delicious. Somehow Eames can't help but feel that he isn't running this show anymore, but fuck if he cares.

"Look at the mess you're making, you're fucking dripping," Eames says approvingly. He tries to project a calm he doesn't feel, largely for his own benefit - blowing his load now would be a terrible waste. He runs the tip of a finger through Arthur's crack, teasing along the string that has rubbed the skin between his cheeks pink and tender. 

When he tries to push the string into his hole Arthur opens up right for him, and the realization of it punches all the air out of Eames.

"You just couldn't wait, you naughty girl, could you? You didn’t just slick yourself, no, you had to finger yourself wet and open because you can't wait to have that pussy full of cock." 

Arthur shakes his head, face sweaty and scarlet with a mix of pleasureprideshame, radiant and beautiful. He wails shamelessly when Eames sinks two thick fingers into him right to the knuckles, a high and needy sound nobody who can't see him like this would even think him capable of. 

"More, please," he demands, voice breathless, canting his hips so Eames sinks in a little deeper. "Another, god, please…," and Eames can't help but respond to his urgency. He quickly fumbles for the lube in the bag next to Arthur and slides a third finger inside without any effort at all. 

Eames fucks him with short, hard strokes, unable to look away from the way Arthur’s rim stretches tightly around his fingers. Arthur rides his hand and arches his spine, lost in pleasure even if he doesn't have the leverage to get Eames to touch him deep inside where he wants it most. 

It's one of the hottest things Eames has seen, and he _has_ to get his cock out of his briefs, snapping the elastic under his balls, because he's afraid that the pressure of the material on his leaking cock might be too much already. 

Eames is not a cruel man, so he gives Arthur what he's asking for and more. He pets his prostate with careful but relentless pressure, stroking the come right out of Arthur until he shudders helplessly with it, cock leaking a steady stream that coats his belly in a glossy sheen.

"You dirty little slut," Eames says, almost fondly. "Creaming yourself as soon as someone strokes your greedy button. Such a shame you haven't been good. I'd rub your cunt until you scream, make you come and come until you beg me to stop because you're too sore to come again." He's running his mouth, but he couldn't care less because it makes Arthur look at him with glassy eyes, cock still half-hard and his arse clenching around Eames' fingers, too fucked out to move.

Eames reluctantly pulls his fingers out, carefully because Arthur is still tight around them and unwilling to let go. He pets his hole, dips a thumb back in before he steps back and gathers the supplies that still are laid out neatly next to Arthur. 

"But we have work to do, alright, make that fanny as pretty as the rest of you," Eames tells him while he slides the ruined string down Arthur's legs. He works quickly; drags the straight razor, a gift from Arthur for this very purpose, over the leather strop to sharpen it, lathers the soap in the small bowl, wets a towel with warm water. Usually he'd take his time, prepare Arthur with hot steam towels to avoid any discomfort, but right now they both are too far gone to drag things out. 

Eames frowns, looking at the stool next to the shower, dismissing it as too high for his purposes. He winces inwardly and drops down on the floor in front of Arthur. His knees will kill him for days, but the height is perfect. 

Arthur reclines against the wall, looking like something out of a vintage pornographic photograph. He brings down a foot against Eames chest, rubs his toes over a nipple. "Anything to finally get my cunt licked," he says with a fake hint of boredom. Jesus, if Eames weren't already on his knees he would be now.

"Spread your legs, then," Eames says, unable to come up with something witty. Arthur complies, arse balanced on the edge of the counter, spreading his legs in a filthy imitation of the splits and framing Eames between them.

Eames works quickly, lathering Arthur's slit with the brush while Arthur watches with half-closed eyes. Eames doesn't mean to tease, but the wet glide of the soapy brush still makes Arthur gasp, muttering "mmh, feels so good" under his breath and close his eyes with a sigh at the first stroke of the blade against his crack.

Eames is concentrating. His face is cradled between Arthur's spread legs, nose almost touching where he drags the blade with practiced strokes over Arthur's skin. He almost startles when Arthur slips a hand in his hair and strokes through it slowly, keeping him firmly in place with a possessive grip. 

They both enjoy the intimacy of sharing something so intensely private. Beautiful and lethal Arthur with his brilliant mind - for Eames, he loves to give up control, let Eames take care of his most private needs, and Eames would kill to satisfy his every desire. 

He spreads Arthur's cheeks with his other hand, glides the razor in tiny strokes around Arthur's hole to remove the fine hair there and in longer slides up and down the crack of his arse. Arthur gasps with it, a breathless _oh fuck, yes_ rushing out of him. The kinky little fucker, of course having his pussy stroked with a sharp knife would turn him on.

Eames blindly reaches for the towel and wipes him quick and carelessly, sensing Arthur's anticipation in the way his thighs have started to tremble.

"Now that's a good girl, all rosy and smooth down there," he says, right before he licks his lips and plants a kiss right over Arthur's hole. It's soft and yielding against Eames' mouth when he dips the tip of his tongue inside, already stretched from his fingers. "Mmh, you naughty girl," he groans, "sloppy and loose already, gonna feel so good around my cock."

Arthur goes rigid and Eames feels the hand that's still twined in his hair tighten. Arthur struggles up to lean on one elbow. It must be hell on his back and tomorrow they'll be both be lucky if they'll be able to get out of bed. But Arthur loves to watch, likes to see the filthy things he lets Eames to do him and a little pain has never stopped him. 

"Fuck, your _mouth_ ," Arthur moans. "Eat me out, make me wet, fuck please… "

Eames' knees are killing him, but it's nothing compared to the way his cock hurts from being hard this long. He's dry humping the air just to get at least a little relief, but fuck, the way Arthur looks absolutely _ruined_ makes more than up for Eames' blue balls. 

Arthur's a sweaty heap on the counter, eyes large and black with arousal and there's a hectic flush spreading from his face all over his chest. One of the straps of the babydoll is torn, causing the bralette to slip and reveal a nipple. Eames reaches up and flicks it, murmuring "yeah, flaunt those titties, that's my girl."

Arthur is staring down at Eames, watching raptly, so Eames flattens his tongue and licks his slit from top to bottom, gets him soaking wet before he closes his lips over Arthur's hole. 

Arthur is hot and wet, slick against Eames when he licks inside. Eames fucks him with his tongue, sliding it in and out wet, licking him deeper until Arthur is panting with it. Eames starves for it, loves eating him out as much as Arthur loves having his pussy licked. He uses his whole face, rubs his stubbled chin over Arthur's slit until he sobs and instinctively clenches his thighs to stop Eames from moving because the prickly sensation on his tender and freshly shaven skin is too much. 

Being on his knees for Arthur, face smothered between the cheeks of his arse - Eames loves it. He doesn't need to move to make Arthur shatter to pieces, he just closes his lips over his entrance and sucks hard.

"Oh god, yes… suck my clit," Arthur _shrieks_ , loud enough to make the sound ring in the small bathroom. Eames gives it to him, sucks him wet and sloppy, squeezing his own cock to hold out just a little longer.

"In me," Arthur pants, "get that cock inside me." 

Eames ignores his aching knees and gets up so fast he feels dizzy. Fuck, his balls are so tight he'll blow his load any second; he's too impatient to struggle out of his soaked briefs, so he just tugs them little lower on his hips and quickly lubes his cock, touching himself as little as possible.

"This is all the slick you're getting," he warns, "but you won't need more, right? You’re sopping wet, you'll let me have you just like this."

"Yes, _yes_ ," Arthur nods frantically, lying back and bracing his hands against the wall behind him. Eames rubs the head of his thick cock against Arthur's hole, lets it kiss in quickly, just an inch to test if Arthur is really ready. 

"Fuck my cunt already," Arthur snaps. It's all the invitation Eames needs and he grinds in hard. 

Arthur comes with the first push inside, having his hole stretched _almosttoomuch_ enough to make him shoot all over himself in long, thick spurts. He keens, clenches around Eames so fucking tight Eames can barely fuck him through it.

Eames ruts mindlessly into Arthur, blinking sweat out of his eyes, lungs burning. Arthur is ruined under him, his bush and belly, even the lace of the bralette covered in white globs of come. "Keep going, feels good," he mumbles and lifts his hips in fucked-out bliss so Eames can fuck in even deeper, harder. He comes as soon as he bottoms out, pushing in deep, deep, deep while he comes hot and wet inside Arthur, filling him up.

"Fuck. _Fuck_ ," is all he can come up with. He's slumped on top of Arthur, stupid with orgasm and hurting too much to move even an inch. He feels Arthur slide his legs from the counter stiffly. Eames groans and forces himself to move, pulls out as carefully as he can but Arthur still winces with a hiss. 

"Are you… " Eames starts, but Arthur stops him with sticky fingers over his mouth. Something hot and tight clenches inside Eames' chest when Arthur leans heavily against him, arms coming around his waist, very much like he'd done earlier in the day. Only this time he's happy and offering his mouth, smiling and breathing _thankyou_ into the kiss.

They eventually stumble to the bedroom, barely making it to bed. Arthur insists on sleeping in the ruined babydoll, mumbling “you said I’m pretty with it.” He crashes almost instantly, nestled against Eames’ side, but not before checking his Glock on the nightstand.

Eames is so, _so_ fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to Recrudescence, Versy and Five_ht for their enabling and encouragement, and to Recrudescence for her thorough beta ♥
> 
> In case you're interested, Arthur is wearing this [babydoll by Victoria's Secret](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/ohfreckle/4161847/189695/original.jpg) and Eames rocks these [very colorful briefs](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/ohfreckle/4161847/189236/original.jpg)


End file.
